


A Technically Non-Canon Game of Truth-or-Dare

by Thanatos02



Category: Scott Pilgrim - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, TaB, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanatos02/pseuds/Thanatos02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott, Wallace, and Ramona engage in shenanigans that are technically non-canonical and, if we understand Wallace Wells correctly, are also not technically homosexual through a principle of active denial, even after the No-Bro-Homo Singularity. Not angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Technically Non-Canon Game of Truth-or-Dare

“So, whose house is this, again?” asked Scott, peering out the window of the beach house guest room at the flickering remains of the bonfire. Two dimly lit figures sat next to each other, and Scott pressed his face against the window to see better.  
  
“These actually open, you know,” said Ramona, leaning over to crack the window open.  
  
“It's a time share, buddy. It's something adults have,” said Wallace.  
  
“I tried that,” said Scott. “I thought it was locked but it's like, painted shut.”  
  
“It's not really nice to peek, anyhow,” said Ramona, with something like exasperation.  
  
“But it's Knives and Kim,” said Scott, almost in a whisper.  
  
“Let me see,” said Ramona, shooshing Scott to the side. “I think that's been kind of a thing since Volume 4, though.” (1)  
  
It was technically correct to say that the trio had been drinking all night, but the drinks differed wildly. Wallace had purchased expensive, snooty craft beers to drink while Ramona had been pouring progressively stronger Cuba Libres (which, when the limes ran out, could really only be called Rum and Cokes), while Scott Pilgrim had drunk exactly one gin and tonic at the beginning of the night and had spent the rest of the evening raiding the TaB in the back of the refrigerator. This was not ironic. (2)  
  
“I can't really see anything,” said Scott, moving away from the window onto the bed, which was one of those twin dealies that's scooted so far against the wall that you can't actually really get into the covers or make the bed when you get up.  
  
“That's okay!” said Wallace. “You can spend your time focusing on the sexy star of the show!”  
  
“Ramona?”  
  
“No, man, me. I am the sexy star of the show.”  
  
“I think it is, actually, me," said Ramona, then polished off her discount Cuba Libre.  
  
“Never mind, show-stealers. Scott, could you be awesome for a moment and get me another beer?” asked Wallace.  
  
“I'm always awesome.” said Scott. “I don’t need your permission.”  
  
“Why not? You could get another of whatever you're drinking. TaB?”  
  
“TaB is good!” (It really wasn’t.)  
  
“No, it's really not. Are you drinking it ironically?”  
  
“No way! TaB is great!” Scott protested.  
  
“Whatever, I don’t really care. Listen, help yourself to that soda downstairs, but at least try to add some rum to it. I believe in you!”  
  
“Geeze, fine! I guess I can see if there are any actual good people left awake!” huffed Scott, as he left the room.

_But there weren’t._

Comeau would have been able to tell Scott who these party goers were, but without him, he’d need a guide or a pamphlet or something. Comeau probably even would have except he was passed out under the stairwell cradling a stack of unopened Solo cups and a half-full fifth (so, a tenth) of Bacardi Silver.  
  
Stephen Stills was leaning against Joseph in front of a television which now just played the intro track and video menu of the Halloween II DVD; Julie was nowhere to be found again. Were they still dating (again/yet)? Scott was having a hard time remembering. Young Neil was there. Plenty of background characters, actually, but everyone was all tuckered out now. It had been an admittedly bumpin' social engagement with a small lake of customary red Solo cups, but it was basically over now.

With a little effort, though, he was able to snag a miraculously half full bottle of 151, a beer, and the remains of a flat two liter of a generic brand cola.

“Yes! So resolute,” he said to himself and walked back up with a stiff lean to keep all the items in tow without dropping. At the top of the stairs, Wallace was saying something and Ramona was audibly giggling. Scott waddled with all possible speed to see Ramona red-faced and doubled over laughing with Wallace finishing recounting his first successful gay coup. (3)

“Wallace was saying we should play Truth or Dare,” said Ramona, whose breathing had just now slowed.  
  
“Man, you got all the stuff!” said Wallace, talking at the same time as Ramona. “Except ice.”  
  
“This was actually pretty tough, though,” said Scott, who carefully set the soda down first, handed Wallace his beer, then poured rum and cola into his old cup.  
  
“And we absolutely should play Truth or Dare,” responded Wallace.  
  
“That's a game for babies,” said Scott.  
  
“Not the way I play it,” said Wallace.  
  
Ramona poured her own slightly flat, room temperature drink. “You just step your game up, a little bit!”  
  
“Do we have enough people?” asked Scott.  
  
“Is there enough rum in your drink?” asked Wallace, taking the drink off the nightstand and giving it a good-sized swig before he sputtered. “There is enough liquor,” he said.  
  
“Is there?” asked Scott, taking it back, drinking, making a face.  
  
“How much did you put in there?” asked Ramona.  
  
“The rest of a bottle? I don't know what the measurements are, actually.”  
  
“You know what? That's good,” said Wallace, dropping his arm casually around Scott's shoulder. Scott side-eyed him and held his drink protectively. “Maybe he'll earn some more drink experience points, and he'll level up to an adult,” he teased, elbowing Scott playfully in the ribs as he released his hold.  
  
“I haven't checked my experience point total lately...” mused Scott.  
  
“No time! Truth or Dare!”  
  
“Yes!” said Ramona, pumping her fist.

Scott sat down in the desk chair, Ramona leaned against the window, and Wallace continued to hang his legs off the side edge of the bed.

“So, what's the deal?” she asked.  
  
“I'm glad you asked! It's exactly what you think. There's only three of us, and for poor Scott's sake, we'll take it easy for the first round.”  
  
“Why for my sake?”  
  
“Because you're a sensitive soul. And also kind of a prude,” said Wallace, shrugging nonchalantly.  
  
“No way am I a prude!”  
  
“I hate to admit it,” said Ramona gesturing idly with her glass, “but you are kind of a prude.”  
  
“No way. I am the least prude.”  
  
“Okay, what would you say if I said that Kim Pine approached me earlier tonight and suggested a _ménage à trois_?” She drew 'ménage à trois' out with sort of a fake French accent that was clearly italicized. Scott, who had conveniently taken a drink just half a second before only nearly avoided a somewhat stereotypical spit-take, to the relief of Wallace, who was situated more or less in front of him.  
  
“Did she?!”  
  
“I think that proves my point,” said Ramona, crossing her arms, looking a little smug. “Don't worry, though, I think that ship may have sailed.  
  
“I’m just surprised he knows what that means,” said Wallace.  
  
“I know what things mean!” exclaimed Scott, who had a somewhat vague idea at most. “Fine. I'll prove that I am not a prude, and also that I am the best.”  
  
“The best at Truth or Dare?” asked Ramona, raising an eyebrow. Wallace cleared his throat.  
  
“If you two are done, we'll begin. The first round is still the training round. Now, the true purpose behind Truth or Dare is creating sexy strife.” he said. Ramona raised an eyebrow. “For example,” he continued, “Ramona, truth or dare?”  
  
“Uh, I'll do truth first.”  
  
“Fine. Have you ever imagined two dudes making out in a sexy-time scenario?”  
  
“Yeah, actually,” she said, smiling.  
  
“What, really?” asked Scott, making a face.  
  
“Yeah, of course. It's hot, it's all over tumblr, anyhow.”  
  
“Is tumblr that website with the pictures that aren't oriented very well?”  
  
“That's the one.”  
  
“You don't follow Ramona's tumblr, Scott?” asked Wallace, leaning over to poke him in the side. Scott brushed him off.  
  
“Should I?”  
  
“Extremely lame. I don't know how you can call yourself Ramona's boyfriend if you don't follow her tumblr.”  
  
“I don't know if he'd like my tumblr!” Ramona snickered. “It's full of guys kissing.”  
  
“Gross, though.”  
  
“You thought Roxy and I were hot.”  
  
“In retrospect, no,” said Scott.  
  
“Aw, come on, Scotty! Here, it's Ramona's turn, though.”  
  
“I thought it was my turn next.”  
  
“You're in training, we're going counter-clockwise.”  
  
“Unfairly arbitrary,” said Scott, rolling his eyes.  
  
“The world's unfairly arbitrary,” said Wallace, self-satisfied and shrugging his shoulders, before polishing off his beer.

“I don't know how you drink your beer without the nasty foam at the bottom,” said Ramona.

“Ancient homosexual secret,” he said. “Also, it's your turn.”  
  
“Fine, I've got one. If you're so grossed out by guys, Scott, have you ever thought of two girls engaged in sexy shenanigans?”  
  
“Uh... no?” he turned a little red.  
  
“Busted.” Wallace.  
  
“What a liar!” crowed Ramona, jumping up.  
  
“Lying during Truth or Dare is breaking a sacred trust, Scott,” said Wallace, solemnly.  
  
“Come on, Scott. Not even... me and say, Knives?” Scott turned a little redder. “Or Kim?”  
  
“Double jeopardy! Like, triple jeopardy!” cried Scott.  
  
“You broke the rules first, buddy. It's open season.”  
  
“Okay, yeah.”  
  
“A little hypocritical,” said Ramona. “Okay, just so you know, it's hot. In theory. I don't blame you.”

Wallace made a move to shush the other two.  
  
“That's good,” he said. “I feel like we've all grown as people. But sexy shenanigans don't happen on their own. It's Scott's turn.”  
  
“Sexy shenanigans?” said Scott. “Like, what shenanigans.”  
  
“Sexy ones,” said Wallace. “Just go, buddy.”  
  
“Alright, fine! Okay, so. Wallace. Truth or dare?”  
  
“Dare!” said Wallace, somewhat over-pleased. Scott remained silent for a long moment.  
  
“I didn't actually have anything ready,” he eventually admitted. Ramona buried her face in her hands.

_(Time Passes)_

Wallace and Ramona were laughing on the bed together, red-faced, after Ramona'd failed to balance her Collins glass on the tip of her nose. Water soaked the front of her blouse, down her breasts to her stomach. Scott, meanwhile, began to get tired, dull. The buzz from the last drink had worn off, but on a half-assed dare, Wallace had made him carry as many beers and remaining fifths up the stairs as he could while the other two watched him struggle to balance precarious booze bottles up to the second floor.

And thus was an easy out available for Scott.

  * _(If you want Scott to sober up and avoid getting any drunker, scroll to the bottom of the fic.)_
  * _(If you want Scott to decide to 'liven up' and take a pull from the rum bottle, keep reading.)_



Scott yawned a little and considered his options.|  
  
“Feeling sleepy, Scotty?” asked Wallace, wiping his eyes. “As your (former) roommate and general better, I recommend taking a stern pull from the gold liquid in the bottle to your right.”  
  
“How do you put words into parenthesis?” asked Scott, slooshing the bottle of 151 to determine its general remaining capacity.  
  
“Oh, I majored in the Humanities at University,” he said, shrugging. “Anyone can do it with a little practice.”  
  
In the spirit of revelry, Scott put the bottle directly to his mouth and took a single, intensely burning swig. He then immediately coughed and choked as he attempted to down as much of the liquor as possible.

Ramona seemed to find this amusing, judging by her laughter turning into something of a sputter.  
  
“It was a good try, Scott!” she said. Scott wiped tears from his eyes, and resolved to double down. Now prepared, he narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Alright, it's not about to get the better of me,” he whispered, with his best Lucas Lee impression. The other two quieted down to see what might happen, but Scott simply lifted the bottle to his lips again and threw his head back.  
  
“Whoa, man, very impressive!” said Wallace as Scott swallowed several gulps at a time. Scott himself felt as if he were mashing a button on a controller, struggling to hold down the liquor as he chugged resolutely.  
  
“If there were a meter...” he thought, without finishing the sentence in his head. Just as he was sure that the Drink-O-Meter would overflow, the bottle was suddenly empty. Scott slammed it down with impressive force before feeling lightheaded from the potent liquor and the general lack of oxygen from holding his breath.

Still, there were only about two shots left. It was just that Scott wasn't much of a drinker. Ramona moved over to the chair, red-faced, and put her arm around Scott's shoulder.  
  
“Well done, Scott. Your reward is... this kiss,” she said, seemingly deciding on the spot. It was a full on, fairly righteous, rum-flavored kiss. The world spun around Scott a little. Wallace gave a slight round of applause.  
  
“Maybe you're ready to take your turn, then, Scott,” he said, opening a beer of his own. The bottle cap just rolled onto the floor. Wallace, a little unsteady, didn't appear to be interested in chasing it.

Now, certainly we are all aware that from moment to moment time does pass. And, indeed, even the author isn't entirely certain we won't want to demonstrate all of the dialogue and actions from the beginning of this storied narrative right to the very close of it, but for all intents and purposes we can largely assume that the game continues for several rounds until the participants are not just quite drunk, but even a little raucous. (Without which it would be difficult to account for the following passages.) To be sure, this is absolutely not about the author realizing that the story has continued for as many as seven pages without much more than a boozy smooch. He cannot begin to imagine someone reading this and thinking, “But where the hell is the porn?” And they would be right to, if a little too polite to actually say so.

Nevertheless, the dramatic cut goes through and we at last come to the scene where things happen. Apologies to all of the readers who preferred a sober Scott, but it is only in this moment that we see Scott laughing and leaning forward, one arm over the shoulder of Ramona Flowers and another over the shoulder of Wallace Wells.

“... and that is what happened the night Wallace and I went back to the apartment drunk,” said Scott.  
  
“I can't believe you remember all that!” exclaimed Wallace, who was lolling his head back until it nearly rested on Scott's.

“I thought you'd said before you two never messed around,” said Ramona, leaning in close to Scott's face with the full force of a pretend-scrutinization.  
  
“Well, when we were done, Wallace said 'no homo', so I assumed it wasn't gay,” replied Scott, shrugging.  
  
“No, I actually said 'that was extremely homo'. As in, it was really very gay.”  
  
“What, really?”  
  
“Really.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Okay, enough!” said Ramona. “No backsies. Besides, it was hot.”  
  
“It really wasn't that much, though,” said Scott. “But if you think no homo, it's not gay.”  
  
“That's not actually how it works. I left my flowchart at home because I didn't think I'd need it, but I'm pretty sure the event occurred before the no-bro-homo singularity of 2010 which is what you'd require to retain complete heterosexual encounter status.”  
  
“Is that really a thing,” said Scott, in a tone that wasn't even a question so much as a statement of disbelief.  
  
“It is not a thing. Being gay is totally great and not technically contagious,” said Wallace, letting Scott abandon his post on Wallace's shoulder. “So you can do whatever you want and still be straight, if that's what you want. Largely through the power of denial.”  
  
“I bet that's what you tell all the guys,” said Ramona, who had also allowed Scott to abandon her shoulder, but simply flopped down on his chest instead. There were several moments of silence, where the three simply collectively looked at walls, the ceiling, or just took long blinks bordering on sleep. “Listen, Scott,” said Ramona finally.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Listen. We've been playing this stupid game all night.”  
  
“It really is pretty stupid,” said Wallace in a low voice.  
  
“I wanted to see some weird, party-fueled action and so far it has been super dry.”  
  
“Okay,” said Scott.  
  
“So I truth or dare Wallace to give you a handy and I truth or dare you to totally let him,” she finished.  
  
Wallace snorted, rolled his head back and gave a laugh that sounded just like he'd said the word 'ha!'  
  
“Ha!” said Wallace.  
  
“Pfffhhhh,” said Scott. “What, really?”  
  
“Yeah, really. I want to see that. I bet it's super hot.”  
  
“Man, I really don't care,” said Scott. “That's like, ridiculous.”  
  
“Do I get a say in this?” asked Wallace, who was currently facing the wall. His voice sounded distant until he turned back onto his back and heaved himself up. His beer was gone. He took a drink from Ramona's Collins glass which was possessed of almost half a measure of rum, flat Pepsi, and water. Condensate made a wet ring where the glass was picked up and another where it was carelessly set back down. Ramona propped herself up on her shoulder.  
  
“Do you want to say no?” she asked. “It's truth or dare, not... uh.”  
  
“Fear Factor?” said Scott, clearly trying to come up with the right analogy. Nobody was sure if he had or not. What's a thing where they make you do something you clearly don't want to? Fear Factor seemed close enough, if you remembered the right brand of network reality television.  
  
“Fear Factor?” Wallace's question was of a different stripe. He did not, in fact, remember that particular stripe of reality TeeVee. It aired between 2001 and 2006, with a painfully 90's logo. If you want to consider just how bad this television was, and what it lead to culturally, than just keep in mind that its successor (if you were extremely loose with your definitions) was a show called 'numbNuts'. Yes, really. I don't have to make this up.

Wallace had considered himself marginally more cultured than that, despite largely having trolled the internet for hot yaois, though Scott had no such illusions. Scott's favorite episodes were the ones where all the other winners of other reality shows came on to compete against each other in a turducken of self-referential reality show blasphemy.  
  
Anyhow, Wallace did not want to say no.

“No, I'm okay. How about you, Scotty? D'you wanna opt out?” he asked.  
  
“Mm, no, that's fine,” said Scott. You see, Ramona had moved forward to kiss him, and her hand had been on his crotch the entire time the Fear Factor explanation had been going. We understand that this might normally seem out of character despite exhaustion and fairly intense, short term alcohol consumption. I don't know how to remedy that. There was no dispute that Scott was currently hard as a rock, though, with the tip of his dick very nearly peeking out of the top of his pants, and that Ramona was massaging the length of his cock fairly assiduously.  
  
“That's an intense boner,” said Wallace, admiringly. He probably ought to know, being one of the top-rated cock-enthusiasts in the province. Scott had been on his back, slightly propped to kiss Ramona while her left hand had been free to grope Scott. As Wallace moved over, more or less leaning over Scott's legs, Ramona unbuttoned the top of Scott's jeans. His zipper came undone easily to reveal strikingly mundane plaid boxers that the length of Scott's dick strained against. Ramona repositioned her hand under her skirt and Wallace allowed Scott's dick free of the top of the boxers with a very slight tug that brought the elastic of the top down below the tip.  
  
Scott didn't move, except maybe to bring Ramona a little closer with his free hand. If anything, it might have been resistance in the form of extreme lethargy, as he didn't move his hips to free his member, nor move his legs to better accommodate Wallace. Wallace was familiar, though, and simply got up a moment silently and repositioned his whole body at the side of the bed, kneeling on the floor, one left elbow on the bed and stroking Scott's cock with his right.

Not wanting to spook Scott by moving too quickly or reacting too drastically, he stroked gently with just the open palm of his hand. Scott reacted involuntarily, his cock getting almost painfully rigid and grunting just slightly. Ramona propped herself up on both knees, switched the elbow she leaned on and, in fact, almost entirely blocked Scott's view of Wallace more or less by accident. Her goggles, which she'd worn since she'd skated here, had come loose and now rested along with her hood on the back of her neck. Attempting to shuck her hoodie, then, became a surprisingly difficult enterprise as it caught the band of the goggles and once her arms were free, forced her to take the whole thing in a crumpled ball over her head and onto the floor at the foot of the bed. She braced herself on her left hand, leaned in on her right side and kissed Scott again while looking at Wallace beginning to cup his hand around Scott's dick as Scott thrust very slightly into Wallace's hand. Ramona's right hand crept slowly back under her dress and down the front of her boy shorts, now rubbing her labia, not yet quite focusing on her clit, and watching Wallace and Scott's interaction intently.

Scott bucked his waist a bit and Wallace gave a little grunt of amusement, pulling the boxers slightly down past the boney angles of Scott's hips to allow the waistband of the underwear to slide below his scrotum. Now, the whole package was free. Wallace began to move his hand above the frenulum, next to the tip, and tightened his grip very slightly to increase the drag on the head on the way back down. Ramona cupped Scott's chin to look at her as she pulled away, leaned against the wall and slid her shorts down past her shoes on her left side while hiking her skirt up past her waist and continuing to massage herself, focusing alternately on her labia and clit. Her other hand moved up to massage her left breast while she wordlessly bit her bottom lip. Scott's attention was diverted visually, but viscerally it was not. A bead of precome welled at the tip of his cock, and Wallace did not stop himself from licking it up with the tip of his tongue.

That hadn't been part of the dare, but neither Scott nor Ramona issued a protest. Wallace intuitively followed by stroking Scott's cock and very suddenly dipping his head forward to take the whole of the head into his mouth. Scott moaned. Ramona mouthed something silently, her eyes fixed on the interplay between Wallace and Scott.

Scott seemed oblivious. His eyes were mostly closed, and when they were open they didn't tend to fix on anything for very long. Very little real time had elapsed; like a quick time sequence, it felt to him like a mashing of buttons – successfully and in quick iteration, producing intense feedback. In the regards of proficiency, Wallace seemed somewhere between 'skilled' and 'electric'. In terms of Scott's level of intoxication, he probably hovered somewhere nebulously between 'not quite fit to drive' and 'approaching oblivion'. All of the stimulus hit Scott right where the brain met the spine. Wallace's head bobbed up and down smoothly and quickly. When Scott came, it was sudden and wordless. Wallace was a pro in terms of blowjobs, heavy doses of alcohol administered to himself and others, and seducing straight dudes, but the sudden burst of ejaculate came with very little warning. Scott's loins tensed up, and suddenly Wallace caught it in the mouth. Scott was lost in the moment, floating in an empty space of sudden endorphins and a boozy vacuum. Wallace went from blowing his roommate to searching for somewhere to spit and finding only the empty Collins glass. Come stuck to the side of his mouth, which he wiped off with the edge of the bedspread.

 “Oh. _Oh!_ Mmm,” said Ramona, who it should be noted, still hadn't come. (Though she seemed very close.) Her eyes focused on Scott's dick, which now stood free of his boxers, twitching from time to time, the bead and rivulet of come that trickled down its side and Wallace, who was just then wiping the come away. The gestalt of the scene helped. Her hand moved a bit quicker. Yes, that'd do it. A little more pressure. She closed her eyes, arched her back, and finally came. Electric spasms first held her rigid then caused her to go loose. Her eyes re-focused. Scott seemed to be languidly staring at the ceiling and making only the most cursory attempts at adjusting his pants.

“I'm going to the bathroom,” said Wallace. “Do you think Everclear would double as a mouthwash? I think Everclear would probably double as a mouthwash,” he continued, as he walked out of the room.

 _(If you wanted Scott to sober up, begin here.)_  
Gee, friend, you’re probably not all that much fun. Sure enough, Scott sobers up and decides to go to bed. Did you really show up to select this option? Go on, get back up there. Hurry along, then.

(1) – Knives and Kim made out at a party. And actually in the video game, but that's not really canon.

(2) - TaB experienced a remarkable and somewhat inexplicable resurgence that nobody could easily point to a cause for. It could be speculated that it was assisted by the cult television show “Harvey Birdman”, where Harvey ran to embrace a giant, anthropomorphic TaB can on a beach at sunset or due to the much later popularity of the long-running, difficult to follow webcomic “Homestuck” where its appearance is both difficult to explain in a vacuum nor particularly worth it. The purchaser of the soda had never read Homestuck and enjoyed the run of Harvey Birdman, but had forgotten about it at the time of purchase, where a mental lapse had caused him to think he was purchasing a 12 pack of Fresca. He had drunk one and left the rest in the back for the better part of two years when Scott came across them. They had passed the 'best by' date, which Scott did not even look at or know was 'a thing', but the only other thing in the refrigerator that wasn't alcohol was some questionable kombucha. He hadn't even thought to drink the generic cola on the counter which Wallace had asserted at the time as 'for booze drinkers only'.)

(2a – The 1966 slogan for TaB was "Be a Mindsticker". I don't even know what that means.)   
(2b – There is no other kind of kombucha. It can be argued that some is more questionable than others, but the difference is typically moot.)

(3) – Not to be confused with Wallace's gay coupe, which he actually won in a gay raffle; an event that was considered only less stunningly unlikely than how he lost the gay coupe, which is not really the point of this story.)


End file.
